


Shades of Human

by Glitterb1234



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DCU, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, interview with the villains, metahuman prison, parody?, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitterb1234/pseuds/Glitterb1234
Summary: A documentary film crew visits one of the most notorious prisons on the planet, hoping to find some humanity in its metahuman inmates.





	Shades of Human

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically an original work, but it is very VERY heavily based on the DCTV Arrowverse and DC comics, so I thought I would put it here. Enjoy, and let me know what you think :)

_Steel Peaks Prison stands high on the Stonewood Plateau, overlooking the sister cities of Oakville and Pine Springs in northern California. Though the prison serves the whole county, most of its roughly 2500 prisoners come from these two cities, their crimes everything from petty theft to first degree murder. Sentences served range from a few months to life; around 5% of the prison population is also awaiting trial, having been denied bail due to the severity of their crimes. What makes Steel Peaks unique is its metahuman wing, the only place in the country where the new breed of super-powered criminals can be effectively detained, thanks to the state of the art containment units developed by local tech company Mercury Labs._

The steely-eyed guard watches me as I empty my pockets into a plastic tray, add my watch and belt, dump my bag onto the conveyor of the x-ray machine. He waves me through the metal detector, and his female colleague gives me a pat-down. Geoffrey is pouting, as usual.

“How am we supposed to capture the full Steel Peaks experience if you won’t let me film?” he gripes to the security guard going over his camera case with a fine tooth comb.

“Against prison policy to allow any form of recording within security processing,” the guard replies with a shrug.

“Stop fussing, Geoff,” says Bert, our sound guy. “You can stop filming for half an hour without the world imploding. It’s for everybody’s safety.”

“Bert’s right,” I chime in, ignoring Geoffrey’s irate glare. “Some of the prisoners here are legit criminal masterminds, and they aren’t completely cut off from the outside world; no need for them to know _exactly_ how security here operates.”

When I told my family that I wanted to make documentaries for a living, I think they were expecting something more tame, like wildlife films or a mini-series about obscure European royalty. Instead, I spend my days in some of the most dangerous places on the planet, searching for the humanity in drug dealers, sex trafficking rings and even terrorist organisations. My mother just about had a heart attack when I told her about this new series.

“You’re doing what?!”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m going into prisons across the country, getting face to face with the prisoners to figure out what makes them tick. It’s about showing the world that the incarcerated population are still human beings, not faceless entities of pure evil. I’ve done this kind of thing before, Mom.”

The phone crackled as she hissed through her teeth. “I know, but Angie, these places… they’re some of the most dangerous places on the planet, with some of the most dangerous people…”

“I swear, Mom, it’s going to be fine. I’ll have escorts at all times and there’ll be armed guards everywhere. They’re prisons after all. Plus, Geoffrey and Bert will be there, you trust them, don’t you?”

It took two hours on the phone to calm her down. I’m still not 100% convinced she’s really okay with it, but my producers approved the plan almost instantly. They’re predicting a ratings jackpot; besides, there isn’t much anybody can do to stop me once I set my mind on something, a fact that my mother should know better than anyone.

The first hour or so inside Steel Peaks goes fairly smoothly. We take a tour of gen pop, the yard and the mess hall. I talk to a few guards, interview a few prisoners, same old same old. I get catcalled five times in the men’s section, but after six prisons in five different states the gruff voices echoing from dimly lit cells no longer make me jump like a startled rabbit. That particular brand of forced nonchalance common to almost every prisoner I’ve ever met is just as present here; the men, and the women too, smile and joke and act unaffected. But that’s all it is, an act – a way to seem strong and brave and tough. Weakness cannot be tolerated here.

It’s when we move into the maximum security wing that things get interesting. No bars and dim lighting here; everything is lit up bright white so the guards and security cameras can see as much as possible, and the cell doors are a single sheet of clear glass, pneumatically sealed around the edges. The guard shows me one of the panels that are beside each door, monitoring the prisoner’s vitals and controlling the power dampeners that keep the metahumans contained. Not every prisoner here is a meta, but most of them are. I recognise several from the news, a few more from my research. There’s Rubber Maiden, whose body can turn to rubber and who decided that the perfect use of this power would be stealing priceless paintings from the Oakville Art Gallery. Next to her is The Zookeeper, who nearly destroyed Pine Springs last year by using his animal manipulating powers to stampede the residents of the animal park through the middle of the city. I spot Vomit, and remember the disgusting crime scene photos from his bank robbery spree – very effective at incapacitating security guards, that one. And the Jokester… he’s just a dick. I can feel his eyes on me, even after he’s out of sight, when he can’t possibly see me. The madness in his eyes, unhinged and yet so calculated, and that twisted grin… I can understand how his victims come away half insane themselves. The metas all watch me as I pass, some curious, some hostile, a few outright gleeful. One or two play up for the camera; the dampeners prevent them from getting out of their cells, but some of their powers still work inside that limited space. Goldilocks shows us the way her hair moves by itself, letting it wind around her arms like a silky yellow snake and throwing it out like a whip to pick up objects on the other side of her cell. Smog changes into a cloud of angry purple smoke, swirls around for a moment, then reforms into a person again. Geoffrey loves it, directing them through the glass, barely even paying me any attention. For my part, I’m fascinated in a way I didn’t expect; I’ve done my research, of course, but there’s a huge difference between reading about what these people can do and seeing it with your own eyes. I start mentally composing voice over script for later.

_I have to remind myself that these are only people. That they have lives and homes and families outside these walls. Once upon a time, they were just like anyone else, until a freak convergence of circumstances imbued them with power, turned them into gods among men. I wonder whether any of them would be here without it – does power truly corrupt, or is evil something else, something deeper? After all, for every person in these cells, there is someone out there using their power to make life better for their fellow man. Powerman, The Blur, Emerald Archer, Miss Terrific… who really shows the norm for the super-powered community? Are our heroes the rule or the exception? Who, in short, can we really trust?_

The warden has agreed to let me speak to a few prisoners face to face, under some fairly strict conditions and a heavy guard. We meet him in a small interview room in maximum security, and he shakes my hand, smiling politely and side-eyeing the camera. Perhaps he thinks congeniality will make me forget about the less than stellar reputation this place has had in the past – no less than four breakouts in eighteen months, all hidden from the public. Quite the scandal when it all came out last month. They’re taking every opportunity to boost their image, including agreeing to be part of this series. The PR department at the District Attorney’s office must be working overtime.

“What do you think makes Steel Peaks so well suited for housing this new brand of criminals?” I ask him.

“Well,” he says, throwing back his shoulders, “of course there’s the matter of proximity. The fact of the matter is, metahuman activity in general is disproportionately high in this area, in Pine Springs especially.”

I nod, like he’s just said the most fascinating thing ever rather than a fact anyone could figure out given half a brain and an internet connection.

“Then I think it’s a case of experience. Oakville has been dealing with crazies like this bunch for years now, long before any of ‘em got superpowers. Our guards are made of stronger stuff, I think. Not much can faze ‘em, you understand?”

I nod again. “Is that an important quality to have when dealing with metahumans, that hardiness and unflappability?”

“Oh, absolutely. Can’t lose your head when your prisoners start firing lightning bolts at it!” He laughs, overly amused at his own joke, and I give the obligatory chuckle. A few more banal questions and we move on to the prisoners. I sit on one side of a metal table waiting for the first to be brought, tapping my fingers and fidgeting; I force myself to stop and try to calm myself before they bring in the first prisoner. The Jokester’s gaze seems to be on me still, dancing across my skin and itching, uncomfortable. I want to rub my hands along my arms, scrub it off, get him out of my head. I resolve to take an extra-long shower tonight, shake myself a little and sit up straight as the door opens.

Quake, real name August Phelps, is a thickset, bulky man with a cocky grin and the swagger of a frat boy. His buzz cut hair betrays his military past, as does the regimental tattoo on his inner arm. He came out of The Incident with the power to cause fierce earthquakes, and tried to collapse a building on General Mayhew’s Medal of Honour ceremony in a twisted attempt to avenge his own dishonourable discharge. Phelps leers at me as the officer chains him to the table; the green lights on his power-dampening cuffs are extremely reassuring – I shudder to think what he would do to me if he could shake his way out of the chains.

I ask him a few questions about his past, and he keeps trying to turn his answers into pick-up lines. I get a little wince when I ask about his wife, but otherwise he seems fairly unaffected. He’s just like the guys in gen pop, all bravado and feigned blasé attitude.

“Why did you do it? What made you use your powers for such wanton destruction?”

He shrugs his big shoulders, leaning back in his chair as far as the chains will allow. “I got the might of an earthquake in the palms of my hands, baby. Why destruction? Quakes are destruction. They destroy every day. I wouldn’t be living up to my potential if I didn’t do the same. Besides, Mayhew had it coming.” A flash of anger breaks his calm façade, seemingly against his will, and he turns his head to the side to mutter, “Stupid git had it coming anyways.”

I glance at Bert, who gives me a tiny nod; our mics caught Quake’s quiet aside.

“And what about all the innocent people caught in the crossfire?”

Another shrug, another unaffected grin. “That’s nature, honey. Indiscriminate, you know.” He seems proud to have used a big word. “So, you single, sweet thing? Give me a few months to get outta this place and I’ll rock your world.”

The guards haul him out after that.

The next one they bring in could not be more different. Kendra Seldon is small, slender and delicate, with coffee-coloured skin and curly black hair tied back in a fluffy ponytail. Her eyes flit from guard to guard nervously, and she holds herself tensely, as if she’s getting ready to run at a moment’s notice. Her fingers twitch restlessly and she tugs at the cuffs every few seconds. I know that if they took them off, she’d use her teleportation powers to be out of here in a second. Despite her obvious nervousness, she’s more open in her answers than Phelps.

“My mother died when I was six,” she explains in a soft, sweet voice, keeping her eyes down and twisting her fingers together as much as the cuffs will allow. “Daddy shot her, one night when he was drunk and raging. We lived in The Broads, no one reports a gunshot down there, no one with any sense, and the police wouldn’t care enough to come around if they did. He buried her in the backyard, where no one would find her. Far as I know, nobody ever has. Nobody even arrested him for what he did. Me and my brother, we got out of there pretty fast after that. Snuck off one night after he passed out and hopped a train to Pine Springs. Remy, he’s a lot older than me, nearly fifteen at the time. He took care of me the way family should, the way Mama always told us to take care of each other. He was all I needed, my whole world. Pine Springs is a thousand times better than Oakville, but life on the streets is still rough. Two kids all on their own… we wouldn’t have made it if Remy wasn’t so smart, so canny. He got involved with some shady stuff, sure, but he always kept me out of it, kept me going to school, kept social services off our asses. When he got sick… doctors cost money, and we could barely feed ourselves. He told me not to worry, to keep living life like everything was normal. He didn’t want me to go to the gang, but I did. We needed help, we needed money, and they always had money. I thought they would be kind, give us what we needed. But those people, they don’t do anything for free. Everything they gave me for Remy, they expected us to earn back. I’ve always been small, quick, good at getting in places I shouldn’t. Becoming a thief was easy, and it was helping my brother.” She smiled sadly. “When I got my powers, it was even easier. I could slip past guards, jump through locked doors, be in and out before anyone even knew I was there. I wanted to get away, get _us_ away, and with these new abilities I could. We just needed one more score, one big payday to set up someplace new. But I messed up. I got cocky, started showing off, and The Blur caught me.”

She trails off, an expression of pure heartbreak and deep regret on her face.

“Has your brother been allowed to come and see you?” I ask, just a gentle prod to get her talking again.

But she seems to have talked herself out; she shakes her head. “No. I don’t know what happened to him after I got put in here.”

I know even these prisoners are allowed visitors, with the same careful guarding that Kendra is under now. Something else must be stopping her brother; I make a mental note to track him down. The Seldon siblings would be the perfect way to show the impact of incarceration on the families left behind, and a way to humanise the meta threat. I have only one more question for now.

“Kendra, how old are you now?”

Another sad smile. “I’m sixteen. Youngest one in here. There’s no juvie for metahumans.”

Next comes the interview I’m most excited for… and the most nervous. The Jokester’s rampages are legendary; he’s turned entire cities into rioting mobs with nothing but a smile and a few well-placed words. Any direct footage of him has to be destroyed, because his powers work even through a TV screen. We’ve been assured that the dampening cuffs will do their job and our film will be safe, but the reports all stress how dangerous he can be even without them. And after that look earlier… I’m fidgeting in my seat before he even arrives.

He’s the most heavily restrained of any of the prisoners I’ve seen so far, ankle cuffs and chains linking his hands and feet, in addition to the regular handcuffs and dampeners. Guards flank him tightly, holding his arms and directing him firmly – he’s barely even moving himself. They strap him to the chair rather than cuffing him to the table, pulling him further back so his hands are still visible. I’ve been warned not to get too close to him; he, on the other hand, seems quite keen to close the distance between us, leaning forward in his restraints, still smiling that disconcerting smile.

“Miss Everwood,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk. “what a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Are you now?” I ask, trying not to look into those disconcerting eyes without making it obvious that I’m avoiding his gaze. “What do you like about my films?”

“Why, all that delicious chaos, of course. Confronting the world with all its madness and depravity, all the things it would prefer to ignore. We’re alike in that way, you know. We both want to blow the lid off, pull back the curtain and expose the disease behind the pretty façade.”

“Is that what you want to do?”  People think leading questions are a journalist’s most effective tool, but I find the best answers come from the simple, straightforward ones. Just give them the rope and let them hang themselves.

“Absolutely.” His grin gets impossibly wider. “Chaos and depravity is humanity’s default setting, Miss Everwood. We’ve been trained to believe that sanity is the way forward, the only way to live a productive life. But think how many things we stop ourselves from doing every day, just because we’re worried about how they will look to others. Now _I_ stopped caring about all that long ago, and I found a freedom unlike anything you can possibly imagine.”

I tilt my head to the side, curious despite myself. “Freedom. Can you really call it freedom when your actions have landed you in jail?”

He laughs, a gritty chuckle just on the edge of manic. “The containment of the body is inconsequential, my dear, when the mind is open. That’s the freedom I crave, the freedom I want to share with the world.” He’s getting more excited by the second, leaning forward, straining against his bonds. “I let those people loose from their chains, and see what they did! Violence, chaos, bloodshed, destruction – this is the natural state of the world, Miss Everwood, anything else is propaganda, indoctrination by the powers that want to control our every move, our very minds.”

I’m leaning forward, drawn in by his energy. “People call what you do mind control. How are you any better than these powers you claim to fight?”

Now he full out cackles. “Mind control? No, no, no, I don’t make anyone do anything that they don’t already want to do. That’s the point. I let them do what they want, without fear of reprisal, without fear of judgement. Someday the whole world will be free, dear Angela, and what a gloriously destructive world it will be!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Geoffrey and Bert fidgeting. The guards are getting twitchy too; one or two have their hands on their guns, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

“You don’t believe that there are any inherently good people?” I press. “You don’t think that at least some people might actually want to help one another, even if they aren’t expected to?”

“That hasn’t been my experience of human nature, no.”

“And what has been your experience? No one can get a straight answer out of you about who you are or where you come from. You’re not in any government facial recognition databases, no one has your fingerprints on file, you won’t even disclose your real name. But you had to come from somewhere, Jokester, so where? What have you been through that has convinced you to give up on goodness so thoroughly?”

He laughs again, high and shrill enough to make my ears hurt, and suddenly I’m afraid again. Suddenly those straps and chains don’t seem nearly as secure; I lean backwards, wanting to get away.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” he cackles. “The Archer couldn’t get me to say. No, no, no. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He keeps repeating himself, the words almost unintelligible past the laughter, and now the guards are moving to hold him down, the warden is declaring the interview over, they’re carrying him out of the room still strapped to the chair and all I can hear, all I can process, is the laughter, drowning out everything else.

“Holy shit.” Geoffrey mutters, and for once Bert agrees with him, giving a tiny nod as he flicks off his microphone. My hands are shaking.

We all silently agree that we’re done for the day, and I follow the guys back through the prison in a daze. The warden shakes my hand at the gate. “Give me a call if you need any more footage. We’re happy to have you!”

I smile and nod. “I’m sure we’ll want to follow up with a few people, probably in a week or so.”

“Until then.” He grins and waves as we drive away.

Geoffrey turns on the radio, fiddling with the dial and settling on a country station.

“Dude, again?” Bert complains.

“This is good music!”

“Yeah, if you’re deaf. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“Hey, country musicians are some of the greatest artists America has ever produced.”

“It is straight up sacrilege to call this tripe ‘art.’ You’re crazy.”

I sit quiet in the back of the van, their bickering drifting into the background as I scribble notes on a pad. Then I get distracted from that too, and just stare out of the window at the lights of the prison, winking like stars on top of the hill. I doodle on the corner of the page, a pair of haunting eyes, full of secrets and plans and madness. They look too real; I shudder and scribble them out, scratching viciously back and forth until they become a shapeless black blob. A dark shape whizzes past, shaking the van just slightly – The Blur, I guess, off to increase the Steel Peaks population. I wonder who she’s delivering tonight. Man or woman? Powered or plain human? Malicious maniac, disgruntled soldier, or abused kid caught in a vicious web of bad circumstances?

A lot of my work has blurred together in my memory, the events difficult to distinguish from one another. I had begun to think every prison was the same, but I know something about Steel Peaks is going to stay with me in a way none of the others have. Maybe I’ll go back, take the warden up on his offer. Forget one episode in a series; there’s material for a whole feature inside those walls. And maybe next time I’ll get a longer interview with The Jokester. Maybe I can find the human being behind those wild eyes. Maybe I can get his crazed laughter out of my head.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”


End file.
